


Cold

by Audriss



Series: Seasons [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Autumn, Cold Weather, F/M, Missing Scene, Shift Contest, between Still and Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audriss/pseuds/Audriss
Summary: You don't know what it's like to be cold until one day you're cold.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd. For the shift contest by NikitaJobson.

Beth laid awake, watching her breath fog in the cold air of the room, huddling under her blanket in a useless effort to keep warm. The place they were currently in, gathering strength and resting was just an excuse of a safe place, letting in more of the frost and wind than a sieve let through water.

Walking through the forest, it had been Daryl – obviously – to have noticed a hunting blind propped up in a large tree, and had suggested them to take shelter inside it for the night. Despite her doubts, she had agreed to it, but now, that the temperature had dropped significantly, she wasn’t so sure Daryl’s idea of this place had been a good one. 

Her lips, normally vibrant and pink, were now turning an awful shade of greyish blue, and she couldn’t help but wish that they had a fireplace right now, or even a small fire, or even something to call four walls and a ceiling – anything – to keep her warm, and keep the chill away. Daryl had denied a fire immediately after the dark had settled over the hunting blind, adamant that it would either draw in more walkers or worse – the living. Of course, it would have been nigh impossible to get a fire going on the wooden platform, but there were few empty metal buckets they could have tried to contain the fire with. Yes, even Beth had to agree it was a stupid idea, but at that very moment in her life, she was more than ready to sell all of her worldly belongings, her mortal soul and Daryl’s fucking crossbow to have some warmth in that despicable excuse of a hiding place. 

A shiver wracked her spine despite all of her attempts to stay warm, and then settling into the limbs and muscles like a stubborn child, and making her movements sluggish, almost like slow motion. She yawned – even her jaw felt listless – and then shuddered again, looking at the small window, stretching her hand out toward it. Had the window been covered by a real glass it might have been warmer on the inside of the blind, but the hole on the wall was covered by some flimsy film of plastic, and she could feel it shift and give in when she touched it with her fingers. She wiped the frost slightly, peeking through the small, clear opening and saw nothing but darkness in the forest outside. Her hand rested against the window frame, and much to her surprise she found herself thinking how she couldn’t feel the cold on her skin. She was most definitely certain they must have gone numb, despite the few blankets she had layered on her. 

She shivered again, wrapping her arms around herself tighter, and shifted her gaze from the darkness of the woods to the small flat bed of the blind, where Daryl was now standing on guard in a revered silence. His breath evaporated as he stood there, his crossbow clutched in his hands, as he shifted from foot to foot, and then, leaned against the banister, surrounding the blind as he kept observing the ground beneath them. 

The moment they had settled into the blind, he’d told her that he’d be heading out in order to find water, maybe some food too. He’d returned only a moment earlier, not saying a word, and scaring Beth as he climbed back onto the flat bed, and stayed outside. She knew he was cold, despite the multiple layers of shirts and leather vest and jacket, but was too stubborn to even admit it. 

The cold seemed to have settled inside of her now, and she wondered if she’d ever get warm again. For a week or two now, they had woken up to find frost on the ground, leaves falling and changing color, and animals scurrying on in their business to fill their nests and storages for the winter. The change in the scenery and the seasons made Beth sad and anxious in a way she hadn’t ever felt like before. 

Before. 

Before all this, before the Turn, she had actually enjoyed the fall, and the change of seasons, the cool, crisp air of autumn and the opportunity to wear comfy and warm sweaters and large scarves. She had enjoyed the beginning of school; she had enjoyed the steaming to-go cups of coffee or hot chocolate and sitting outside on the porch of their house at night with Maggie, and giggle about girly stuff. She swallowed hard at the thought of Maggie. She had to be alive, she just had to. Maggie was all that was left of her family. 

Now, after the fall of the Prison, and their whole family spreading, getting separated, it wasn’t just about avoiding the dead and the living, anymore. Their focus had shifted on the run. 

As the winter was slowly crawling on them, they needed to get themselves a place to spend the cold season. They needed to gather food, like the animals – apparently having been far smarter than Beth and Daryl – and they needed to make sure they would have enough warmth to survive. They needed stability, they needed sustainability.

She chewed her bottom lip, deeming the hunting blind completely un-suited for a place for the winter. It was a shack, few pieces of lumber nailed into a hovel on a tree with a tarp over it. It had survived few winters already, but even if they had the materials to fix it for the winter, a warm house it was not. Frowning she let her thoughts wander to the fact that she wasn’t sure how they could fix this place anyway. Did Daryl know how to build a tree house, or something similar? Because she sure as hell didn’t. She remembered that her father could build a ton of things, almost anything the kids ever asked, but one thing they never got was a tree house. Maybe it was because they had enough places to play at the farm. 

With all these thoughts coursing through her head, she was so deep in her thoughts that when the soft pitter-patter of rain drops fell against the tarp covered roof and the window, water slowly falling down the fogged plastic, she startled a little. As the sound quickened, and grew rougher, almost piercing, she tilted her head, realizing that the measly rain had quickly changed into hail. 

She relaxed back down into her one made-shift pillow, and scoffed at her scare. Being afraid of rain and hail was least of her worries in the world full of flesh eating dead. And if it had been something, more than just rain, Daryl would have alarmed her. Her biggest worry at that particular night was that she might die of hypothermia, or frostbite, or over exposure. She made a mental note to get Daryl to find something resembling a cabin, a house, or even a store that would have clothes to raid in the morning light. 

Miserably, she shifted out from underneath her covers and reached for the bottle of water, only to find that it was beginning to ice over. She stared down at it, blinking few times, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. 

It was all a bit too much for her to be honest. She wrapped her grey cardigan around her tighter, shivering as she hugged her knees under the scruffy blanket that might have been dirty even before the Turn.

Considering of trying to get some sleep, and already knowing it would have been more or less impossible, she nearly had a heart attack when Daryl stumbled into the small blind and shrugging his shoulders vigorously, and shaking himself like a dog, as water splattered all around him. 

“Daryl,” she whimpered in a weak attempt to scold the archer. She looked up at him, her gaze following him as Daryl dropped a full backpack on the wooden floor and kneeled down after it. His fingers were on the clasps and fabric quickly and he pulled it open like a walker pulls open their next meal. He practically threw out some of the canned items he’d managed to scour from the buildings near by. At the sight of the tin cans, Beth suddenly remembered how hungry she was. 

“Found some food,” Daryl grunted, “And these,” he continued, pulling two college shirts from the backpack and tossed them to Beth. She caught them and un-scrunched them, looking at the black fabric like it was ambrosia or the cure for the dead walking on earth. 

“Ohh!” she exclaimed, and shrugged her blanket off her shoulders and smiled at Daryl broadly, as she began sliding her arms into the sleeves of the shirt. The archer frowned and avoided looking at the petite blonde immediately, and instead, returned to empty the bag.

“So warm!” Beth sighed, feeling the warmth around her in a form of an extra large men’s college shirt, “Thank you, Daryl.”

“’s fine,” he grumbled back, still averting his gaze from Beth and reaching for another bag he’d dragged up into the tree. 

Beth wanted to say that it wasn’t just “fine”, because Daryl had actually remembered she was cold and in desperate need of new warm clothes, but instead she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want, or have the heart, to call him out on that and embarrass the man. So, instead, she watched him open the other bag and pull out two pea green colored sleeping bags. Both of them were rolled into tight bundles, but Beth could immediately recognize that they were indeed sleeping bags. Her eyes flew wide open and she blinked few times.

“Daryl, how did you - -,” she breathed out loud.

“Got them from a garage,” he said back, shrugging his shoulders, grabbing one of the sleeping bags, “Those bastards don’t need them no more,” he said, and Beth swore she saw his lip curl into a tiny grin. 

“You didn’t kill them over these?” she asked, slightly wary, holding onto the fabric of the sleeping bag, as she kept looking at Daryl incredulously. She didn’t know why the question popped out of her mouth like that, but she bit her tongue quite roughly for asking it. 

“Mmh-mhh,” Daryl replied curtly. His eyes never left the task at hand – opening the sleeping bag – and it only left Beth puzzled about what he meant by his very much mumbled answer. She didn’t have time to revisit the question and the answer in her mind, when Daryl grunted rather pleased, and shoved the roll of his sleeping bag open on the wooden floor of the hunting blind. So, she blinked few times, and nervously set down the sleeping bag she had been holding in her arms, down on the floor.

Because she didn’t make a move to open the roll, Daryl – frustrated with the situation as well – grabbed it without a word and tore through the straps and then threw it on the floor hastily. Beth’s sluggish movements drew his attention when she tried to stand up, and she noticed him immediately frowning. 

“Oughta eat somethin’,” he grumbled, “Drink somethin’.”

She nodded quickly for an answer, because truthfully she was famished. Her smile was genuine when Daryl reached for his hunting knife and skillfully poked the lids open from two cans, one of which seemed to be creamed corn and the other a small tin of spam. 

“Can’t heat ‘em up,” he crumbled a half of an excuse, and without asking her opinion on the matter, divided both cans’ content in half and handed her share over to her on a dirty piece of cardboard he’d found on the floor. 

She knew all too well they weren’t able to heat the food. She’d learned that the hard way over the course of that evening. But her new shirt was warm, and it was all thanks to Daryl. She smiled a little at the thought as she held onto the cardboard loaded up with food, and watched as Daryl shoveled the food into his mouth with record speed. 

“Well, since we are all infected…,” she mumbled, and dug into the cold meal of theirs by fingers, but never once hesitated. She was certain that not even her mama’s freshly baked corn bread was this delicious and she practically licked the cardboard clean. As a complete opposite of her actions, she watched Daryl actually lick his knife and then wipe it clean with the dirty hem of his black shirt, and slide it back into the sheath that hung on his belt. 

She looked at him, nodding, thanking him silently for the shirt and the food he’d found for them, and for the two sleeping bags that were now spread on the floor. She wanted to touch him, tell him that he was a good man, but she already saw the caged and panicked animal in his eyes, ready to bolt the first possible moment. 

So, instead, she smiled and turned to gather the cans and the cardboards and carried them to the corner of the small blind.

“I take the first watch,” Daryl said, slowly standing up, and pointing towards the sleeping bags, “Jus’ get some rest.”

“Okay,” she replied. 

* * *

The first rays of sun streamed through the fogged up window and woke up Beth. Her nose felt cold, her throat felt slightly sore, but otherwise she felt warm all over. She wiggled her toes, feeling the pleasant warmth on her legs, making her feel slightly astonished about the strange sensation. Over the last year, she’d slept on where ever they could; varying from hard and cold floors to somewhat soft chairs and couches, but it was this rickety, freezing cold hide that gave her the best sleep in a forever long time. Warmth had been a luxury for the past month for the both of them. Despite her breath forming swirls in the crisp cold air with every exhale, she was comfortable. 

She blinked few times, letting herself to draw in the surroundings, letting herself remember where she was. It wasn’t easy doing that every morning, but it had become a habit, a way to survive. Those few seconds of the morning when she was still in between of slumber and awake she could pretend she was waking up in her own bedroom at the Greene farm which had been in their family forever and half. Those few seconds meant she didn’t lead her life in a world that had turned into a nightmare of walking corpses. 

Beth rubbed the sleep from her eyes, sitting up, and stretching her arms and yawning. As she let her gaze rake over the small insides of the blind, she realized Daryl was sitting on his scrunched sleeping bag, arms folded over his knees. 

“Daryl?” she asked, reaching out before thinking, before reminding herself that Daryl didn’t like to be touched. 

“Beth,” he swiftly turned his head to face her, as he breathed out loud her name, in an exasperated huff. 

“Everything alright?”

“’s fine,” he nodded, “Better get goin’,” he quickly added then and clambered up. Her lips pressed into a tight line, and she bobbed her head in agreement. She quickly stood up, sliding her boots on, then gathering their few and sparse belongings into the black leather backpack. 

She definitely didn’t want to leave the comfort of the warm sleeping bag, and she certainly didn’t want to leave the stuff behind, but Daryl insisted on it. He barked something unintelligible and proceeded to throw the two pea green sleeping bags out of the hunting blind. Beth felt like she should scold the archer, but only managed to giggle at his glare when she burst into laughter. 

He kept grumbling all the way outside, and down the ladders. 

The trees, partially bare from leaves along with the shrubbery and the ground littered with leaves glistened with the morning dew and the residual droplets of the rain from the past night. Sun, that hadn’t been seen in days, maybe even weeks, was now peeking through the clouds. It was truly the end of the rather warm autumn that had followed a continuous heat wave summer. 

“Hey,” Daryl said as they headed through the wet shrubbery, “’m gonna teach ya to track. Gotta make sure ya are eatin’ enough.”

“Can I use the crossbow, too?” Beth inquired.


End file.
